


Lion and Lynx

by Esteliel



Series: Nepeta Cataria [1]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Cat Ears and Tails, Catboys, Catnip Made Them Do It, Hand Jobs, Identity Issues, M/M, Madeleine Era, PWP, catnip-induced dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:27:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Javert sat poised on his desk, one leg on the ground, the other bent, his tail twitching, curling around himself for one moment only to whip against the wood of the desk again a heartbeat later.</i> </p><p>A Catboy AU. Javert is a lynx, Madeleine is a lion, and some criminal figured out that the easiest way to disrupt police investigations is to send catnip to the inspector of Montreuil-sur-Mer...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lion and Lynx

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tvglow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvglow/gifts).



> Because I couldn't get [catboy!Javert](http://oldmanjolras.tumblr.com/post/93744509638/why) out of my head, or the thought of what catnip might do to him. :D This is quite ridiculous PWP, but I enjoy the thought of catnip!Javert too much.

Maybe he should have known that something was wrong when they called him to the station house in a hurry. Maybe he should have realized that something was _wrong_ – that it was not an arrest that had been made, a burglary, a corpse found in the river. But he had hastened to the station house when summoned, and he had found the police of Montreuil-sur-Mer gathered there before the closed door to the inspector's office, stepping aside for him with great relief.

No one had told him what to expect. One of the men had stammered something – Dubois, the newest, he thought, for Javert had informed him of the arrival of the young tabby only a week ago. But he could not make sense of his words – something about a box of snuff, of all things – and the others pulled him aside, so that Madeleine, his long tail of dun fur twitching with unease, found himself abandoned in front of the door. 

Well. There was nothing to be done about it. He was the mayor, and if there was indeed an emergency, he could hardly refuse to see the inspector. His ears swiveled forward with cautious suspicion as he entered the room. As soon as he had stepped inside, the men closed the door behind him in haste, and that would have been enough to cause further distrust, if his eyes had not already come to rest with stunned disbelief on what had happened to the inspector's usually so orderly office.

There was paper strewn everywhere, letters ripped, shreds of books fallen onto the carpet like pale leaves in autumn – and amidst that carnage, Javert sat poised on his desk, one leg on the ground, the other bent, his tail twitching, curling around himself for one moment only to whip against the wood of the desk again a heartbeat later.

Madeleine looked at him, speechless – and then Javert jumped, and the surprise of the impact was enough to cause him to stumble back and go down. Instinct made him raise his arm to guard his face and throat, for in that moment of heart-stopping panic, all he could think of was that Javert must know, Javert had found out his secret, Javert–

Javert purred. Javert purred loudly, the sound distinctive, somewhat rough, but it was without a doubt a purr, especially as Javert was now rubbing his cheek all over his chest. It must have been in affection, though Madeleine could not help but shiver slightly at the menace he felt to be inherent to the gesture.

“Javert,” he said, still not quite able to believe what was happening. “Javert, ah, what...”

Javert looked up, and when their eyes met, Madeleine saw that Javert's eyes were wide and dark, staring down at him with a fierce light that made him want to shiver and curl up, for the last time he had been watched with such ferocious suspicion had been in Toulon. 

But this was not Toulon, he reminded himself. That was not even his past anymore. That had never been the past of Madeleine, and as suspicious as Javert might be, he had never given him any reason to suspect.

Javert's ears flattened as he looked down at him. "I knew a man like you once..." he said, his purr now almost a growl, "a lion, a brute, chained up in Toulon." 

Madeleine froze, his body nearly trembling as every muscle in his body tensed – and then Javert lowered his head again to rub his cheek against his chest, his purr so loud that Madeleine could feel the vibration of his entire body.

"Forgive me," Javert said then, breathless now, "you are of course no brute, Monsieur le Maire," and Madeleine, shaken by his words, hesitated for a heartbeat before he rested his hand on Javert's head, stroking the hair very carefully. It was glossy and soft, as neatly groomed as the rest of him, and he felt sick when he realized that it took far less effort than it should to overcome his disgust and smooth his fingers along Javert's ears, rubbing them gently while Javert arched against him, his purr intensifying.

"What happened, Javert?" he asked again to keep the conversation safely away from the past. There was a distinctive scent in the air, and it was almost enough to make him forget about Javert to go and look through the mess of papers and books Javert had created to find the source of that smell of heaven and sunlight and warm companionship...

Javert laughed without making a sound, although Madeleine could feel the vibrations of it against his chest. Then Javert took hold of his cravat with his teeth and gave it a playful tug, not ceasing until the knot had unraveled. Madeleine swallowed when he felt cool air against his throat, then sudden, surprising warmth as Javert nosed at him, rubbing more of his scent on him.

"There was a box of snuff in the mail. Dubois thought I had ordered it," Javert said, and then the hot, wet sensation of his tongue pressed to the hollow of his throat, tasting his sweat with little flicks, nearly made Madeleine miss the words that followed. "It was not snuff. One of our informants vanished a week ago, just when we came close to that ring of smugglers. And now someone sent me catnip. Can you not smell it? Is it not the most delightful thing you have ever smelled? Almost as delightful as your sweat," Javert said with another deep purr, his voice at once fierce and dreamy, and Madeleine trembled again when Javert rested his head on his chest to breathe in his scent with obvious enjoyment.

“Javert, this is highly inappropriate.” Almost as inappropriate as the way his own body reacted to the scent of Javert, almost as inappropriate as the way he kept playing with his ear, stroking the fur with the little tufts of dark hair at the end, imagining how it would feel to have them brush his thighs...

Javert pushed into his touch so that he scratched at the base of his ear by instinct alone, and a shudder ran through the entire length of Javert's body.

“More,” he demanded, his voice dark, breathless, too far gone for honorifics, and Madeleine, not quite certain what he was doing, only that Javert's scent was not repulsive at all all of a sudden, raised his other hand as well, massaging both ears at once so that Javert shuddered and purred and squirmed on top of him.

“Take off your clothes,” Javert then said, pushing harder against his hands for more caresses. “Take them off, I want to smell you, I want my scent all over you!”

“Javert,” Madeleine said, his hands ceasing their work for a moment. “Javert, this is – we are in your office! They can probably hear us, you should not say–”

Javert's purr turned into a growl, and if Javert's face had not been buried against his chest again, he thought he might have seen the inspector snarl at him. Then Javert sat up, his eyes still focused on the part of his throat that had been revealed when he pulled the cravat away, and began to tear at his coat with little thought or care. “Off!” he repeated, and Madeleine froze when he could feel Javert's hardening prick against his thigh.

“Javert!” His voice was firm, although he was glad that Javert could not see the way his fingers ached to once more run over the sleek fur of his fine ears. “Please, this is not–”

The first button sprang away, rolled forgotten into some corner, and Javert stiffened for a moment, his body tense with the instinctive need to pounce. Madeleine swallowed, looked at the door – but no, they had called for him, they did not know how to handle this, they thought that he would know how, and had they thought that he would want _this_? The thought made him flush, but then he remembered that Javert was still poised to rip off his clothes, and he could not have that. That the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer was a lion was one thing – a coincidence; and if there had once been a convict with a similar build, with a similar tail of dun fur and a tuft of soft hair at the tip, well, then that was easily explained away; after all, a lion was not all that uncommon a sight. But the scars on his back, those were difficult to explain, and Madeleine realized anew that whatever happened, he could not allow Javert to rip the shirt off him, even in play, even under the influence of the catnip that had him so wild and playful at once.

As easily as that, his decision was made; no matter what, he could not allow Javert to stay in control, not when Javert had forgotten all propriety and might claw the shirt from his back if he kept resisting. Instead, he used the moment of distraction and wrapped his arms around Javert's shoulders, rolled and ignored his startled hiss and bore down on him, and if there was suddenly a triumphant light in his eyes to have Javert on his back beneath him, then certainly it was but a sign that even after half a lifetime in Toulon, there were still moments of the playful cub left in him, and nothing more than that.

Javert's ears were flat against his head, and he snarled, then went straight for Madeleine's throat, so fast that Madeleine could not move back in time – but the pressure of teeth against his skin was remarkably gentle, the tender bite soon soothed by a hot, wet tongue rasping against the bruises, and when Javert's hips arched against him, he was not even surprised to find that he had hardened in his trousers as well. He could not even say whether it was the slide of Javert's prick against his own or the way Javert sucked on his throat that made him groan and try to rub himself against him in turn, but certainly, he thought, certainly it was not too late yet, he could still get up, could restrain Javert maybe, could–

This time Javert's hands were in his hair, and those strong, cruel fingers suddenly felt impossibly gentle as they scratched at the base of his ears. He shuddered, a deep, deep purr rumbling from somewhere within his chest, and Javert arched against him again, his mouth hot and wicked at his throat while his fingers worked a tender spell on his ears, now rubbing at the base, now massaging at the tip, until he could not help himself anymore and shook his head free and rubbed his cheek against Javert's chest, breathing in the scent of his skin and his arousal and beneath it all, that maddening, intoxicating sweetness of the catnip that still clung to him.

Then Javert's hands were at his trousers, opening them, and he groaned when his straining cock pressed eagerly against those waiting fingers. This was madness, _madness_ , and for one heartbeat he allowed himself to think of it: Javert's fingers clawing at the skin of his back, nails leaving hot, red furrows while he fucked him, so hard and merciless that Javert would come from that alone, without even a single touch from him – or worse, Javert pressed to his back, Javert inside him, holding him open and vulnerable and filling him with inch after inch of that eager cock that strained against his own; Javert licking the scars on his back while he came inside him, marked him with his scent...

Madeleine groaned and shook his head as if to escape the thoughts that had taken root, those terrible, fevered dreams that could never become reality. Javert's prick slid against his own now, a welcome diversion; Javert's breath escaping in hot little pants against his throat as Javert arched and squirmed, vibrating with a low, enticing purr, and Madeleine, knowing himself damned by his own thoughts already, wrapped his hand around their cocks. He shuddered at the heat of Javert when he pressed them together, the scent of him, that nearly unbearable sensation of hot, soft skin and aching hardness, and then Javert's teeth were again at his throat, that tongue pressed to his pulse, the sleek, long tail whipping against his back. It was that sensation which finally broke him; suddenly he could not bear it anymore, allowed instinct to take over, bent his head to whisper to Javert that fantasy. Not the most shameful one, not that most terrible secret of Javert's cock inside him, Javert's tongue following where the lash had scoured him, but that other nightmare, the nightmare that was safe: the nightmare of pulling Javert's hips up, holding him in position by his tail, forcing him to take all of his cock, filling him with all of his come, making him leave the room like that; _ah_ , neat, prim Javert forced to walk through the streets of Montreuil with Madeleine's come still dripping from his sore hole, sliding down his thighs so that everyone in Montreuil would smell the mayor on him, would know what he had done– 

And then Javert sobbed and convulsed and came in hot, messy spurts of his spend, and it was the sensation of that wetness against his prick that made him find his own release as much as the knowledge that Javert had come from that terrible, impossible fantasy.

For one blessed moment, all thought was gone, and there was only sensation, only pleasure, so grand and overwhelming it was like nothing he had known before, and the times when he had been forced to find pleasure by his own hand seemed a paltry, shameful thing in comparison. Yet thought returned all too soon, and with it the heavy weight of shame and disgust at what he had allowed to happen. He was far stronger than Javert, he thought once more. He had not inhaled the catnip. He would have had enough time to restrain Javert, to demand help from the men who had summoned him, to–

Javert purred against his throat. It was a low sound, barely audible, but he could feel the vibration that ran through his entire body, felt the brush of his whiskers against sensitive skin, the tentative coil of the sleek, long tail against his own. He shuddered, feeling an answering purr build inside his chest, and in his despair he told himself that it was a physical thing, that he had been alone too long, that craving touch, especially in a room that still smelled sickeningly sweet of catnip, was something no one could resist, no matter how good or virtuous, and then he realized that his hand,so wet with their combined spend that it should have been disgusting, had moved upwards, below Javert's rucked up shirt, and Javert's skin was smooth and warm and stroking him there made the purring intensify. Javert tilted his head back, his eyes heavy-lidded, satisfied, and there was nevertheless still enough menace in the glance - or maybe that was something he imagined, he thought, dizzy from the way Javert's tail slid against his own and the low purr rumbling against him – that he kept stroking him there, rubbing their spend into his skin while Javert stretched and arched, languid and very nearly smug, although it was Madeleine who marked him with his scent.

“Javert,” he said later when he could talk again, when they had opened the window to allow the scent of the catnip and their rutting to escape. There was still some of that sweet, intoxicating scent coming from Javert, and the obscene smell of his own come drying on Javert's skin. It should have disgusted him by now – instead, the thought of marking him so lewdly in an act so blatantly possessive was enough to make him flush and shudder. To think that this part of the fantasy would be true, that Javert would have to go home like this and the citizens of Montreuil would smell him on Javert... Ah, it was inconceivable, and he trembled again to know it was no nightmare, but made real by his own hands.

He tried to tear his eyes away from Javert and failed. “Javert,” he said at last, swallowed thickly while his eyes still lingered on where he had rubbed his scent into his skin, “have someone check your mail from now on – Dubois, another of your men, I do not care. Only, have them check anything you are sent.”

Javert stretched again, still smug as he stood, his tail swishing back and forth with obvious pleasure as he stared at Madeleine. “We must be close. First the informant who is gone. Now this. We must be very close, and they are afraid. Paris has known for years that the catnip must come in from the coast, and now we almost have them.”

“Yes, well,” Madeleine said, and turned away from the display with what he told himself was not regret, “have a care in your investigations.”

“Oh, have no fear, Monsieur le Maire. I am always very thorough with my investigations,” Javert said, his eyes sliding down Madeleine's body. And although Madeleine told himself that there was nothing but blatant lust in Javert's gaze, he shuddered nevertheless to hear those words, and imagined Javert's large hands on his scars again for a moment, and then had to step to the window again to deeply breathe the cool air before he could ready himself to leave the room and exchange Javert's eyes for those of his men.


End file.
